


night time

by weirdoqueen



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, One Shot, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdoqueen/pseuds/weirdoqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a duelist/assassin tabris gets more than a little bit personal with her target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	night time

**Author's Note:**

> [night time](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItX2cntpWtE)

She stood in the doorway, a silhouette even in the dark, her body swathed in black silk so fine he swore he could see see through it.

He put down his glass of Antivan red—his fourth, if her count was correct.

"Who’s there?" he called, his words slurring, his eyes squinting, struggling to see through his haze and through her cloak of shadows.

"No one," she purred, moving so quietly that her footsteps would be inaudible even to sober ears.

"Have it your way, then, Ser _No One_." He snorted at his own joke. “What’d you want with me, then?"

She flashed a smile at him as she stepped into the dim glow of the hurricane lamp. “Nothing at all," she replied, tugging at the laces of his velvet robes.

"Mmm, nothing, ehh? And what about me? What if I want nothing of you, lass?" He rasped out a laugh as he reached a clumsy hand under her dressing gown to grope at her ass—though the laugh was punctuated with a loud hiccup, followed by a lazy grin.

"How generous you would be," purred she, “To want nothing of me."

And how generous he was indeed, a magister of the Imperium, a man known for demanding excess provisions of his people, a man known for taking young elven children from their families for his own disgusting purposes and killing the children’s fathers if they refused or made too much of a fuss, a man known for siccing dogs on the elderly and sick, a man untouchable because of his wealth and power.

And how generous was she to have emptied two entire vials of poison, one of concentrated magebane and one of adder’s kiss, to ensure that this man’s generosity did not continue.

The enlarged dose was not meant to make the man die faster—he would die slowly no matter how much she gave him, and that was the beauty of the adder’s kiss, meant to weaken the prey, make it suffer.

No, she merely wanted to ensure that he would die after all was said and done.

She knocked him backwards onto his bed with hardly more than a poke to his chest, climbing atop him so smoothly she seemed to move onto him even as he fell. She unlaced his robes, parting the fabric from his chest, and she began to plant kisses on his neck, down his chest, noting with satisfaction the unusually normal rhythm of his heart—where her body quickened his pulse, the adder’s kiss sought to slow it.

Still, though, his cock began to rise, and when she began to feel its head nudging eagerly at her warmth, she brought him into her with a fluid rocking of her hips.

There was a sheen of sweat on him now, and he felt a tightening in his stomach, a tickle in his blood, and his heartbeat fluttered but remained the same.

"S-something," he muttered as her soft moans called to him, a sweet siren’s song. “Something’s not right." He lifted his sweating, clammy hands from her hips and gazed at them in confusion. “Why do I feel so… so cold?" His voice hitched as she tightened her heat around his shaft, letting out a pleased hum through a bitten lip. She bent forward and let out a breath as she moved, hot air catching on the cold sweat on his chest, making him shiver. She took hold of his hands, interlacing their fingers and stretching their arms towards the headboard. 

But he didn’t look at her.

"I f-feel…" His furrowed brow relaxed as the knowledge dawned on him, and then did he meet her gaze. “I know this feeling, you—"

And as his yell of pain began she pressed a kiss to his lips, muffling the sound.

Or, perhaps it wasn’t pain. She had never stopped the movement of her hips, after all, and she only sped her motions now.

He could no longer move—the adder’s kiss had taken care of that—but still could he feel her on him, the only heat on his body, a burst of fire cutting like a blade from his loins to his palms, for he could no longer feel his fingers.

Her moans grew loud enough to rival his, though whether it was from pleasure or pain, even he was unsure. She was a bit caught off guard when his fingertips began to produce sparks—she had heard that mages produce final spouts of magic upon their deaths, but she had assumed the magebane would’ve taken care of that.

But no matter.

The sparks grew into candle-flickers, and the silks of the bed began to fall prey to the hungry flames, and with the heat did she clutch at his flesh, did she cry out for their release.

Her hand happened to find his heartbeat as she dismounted, as the nipping of the nubile flames became uncomfortable.

It still held a steady beat, as though she had never entered the room.

"Who are you?" he whispered as the flames began to caress his hair.

She smiled at him, then. She picked up the hurricane lamp, ran a finger over its gilded glass, then dropped it at the foot of the bed, the glass shattering, the flame catching.

"No one," she murmured.

His hair, once black and grey, now burst with orange and red. She heard no screaming, so she turned and headed for the door, but stopped in the frame, looking over her shoulder at the blazing light.

"No one at all."


End file.
